82. The Beastmaster (1982)
Directed by Don Coscarelli
Written by Don Coscarelli and Paul Pepperman
Starring Marc Singer, Tanya Roberts, and Rip Torn
If you’re set on fire during battle, at what point do you stop fighting and try to put out the flames? Does self-preservation matter more or less than vanquishing your enemies? J and I agreed that this whole film is just a straight boy’s fantasy come to life; so it’s telling that the ripped Aryan hero threatens and patronizes — but never has sex with — Kiri, who of course is a slave girl in need of rescue. But those cunning ferrets find time to do it, hopefully consensually, probably during those long hours crossing the wilderness in Dar’s leather satchel. The sight of Podo’s newborn twins at the end softens the blow of Kodo’s selfless death. X sometimes wishes our cats could talk so she can ask whether they know how much we love them. I argue that this kind of direct communication would destroy the specialness of the cat-person bond, and that purrs, playful biting, and voluntary cuddling should be evidence enough. And anyway, if Weyoun and Angela were smart enough to speak, they’d probably get bored being trapped in a South Philly row home, and we’d have to take them on walks and get them library cards and their own computer, and at that point it’s like they’re basically children, which we don’t want, which is why we have cats in the first place: creatures to keep us company that won’t cost us a ton of money or grow up to be damaged assholes who’ll actively try to break our hearts. Most of my friends are human, and I’ve noticed within the past year or two that we’ve grown more inclined to explicitly say how much we care about each other — irrespective of age, gender, or how long we’ve known each other. Even more than having the chance to experience and cultivate different and deeper kinds of intimacy, I think it’s pretty well-acknowledged that the best part about getting older is giving fewer fucks. Though I realized a few blog posts ago that the idiomatic currency of fucks is unclear. Are you supposed to save (I don’t give a fuck) or get rid of them (I’m out of fucks to give)? Fuck(ed) if I know. BTW: if you’re reading this, I love you.